“Mine” sits in the warm, late-night pocket where The Hics’ electronic-soul palette meets Bas’ unhurried rap phrasing and Domani’s soft-melodic verse.
Across Melanchronica, the trio blends 70s progressive touches, 80s pop gloss, and 90s hip-hop/R&B, and “Mine” leans into that with silky synth pads, rounded low-end, and light percussion that leaves space for the topline.
Melanchronica arrived 17 June 2025 via Abbas Hamad Inc.; Apple lists “Mine” under the album’s Music Videos.
The video is live on BasVEVO and appears in TIDAL’s video tabs for Bas/The Hics/Domani.
Bas discovered The Hics’ “Cold Air” on GTA V’s WorldWide FM while touring with J. Cole in 2015, DMed them, and the studio chemistry led to “Ricochet” and “Matches” on Too High To Riot, then years of sporadic collabs that finally cohered into Melanchronica.
Bas has framed Melanchronica as modern longing under overstimulation, burnout, isolation, self-reflection, and the want for real connection. That lens fits “Mine” perfectly.
Reviewers have described the album’s sound as a hypnotic fusion of hip-hop, electronica, and jazz; one review tags “Mine” specifically as a tropical-tinted turn inside the tracklist, which fits the lightly syncopated groove and prismatic keys here.
The Hics (Roxane Barker on lead) carry the hook with a feather-light, close-mic tone that keeps everything intimate rather than showy.
Bas enters with hushed confidence, less punchline cadence, more diary-grade phrasing, and Domani slides in with a measured, melodic verse that mirrors the song’s theme of holding on without flooding it with bravado.
The chemistry is there, and you can see how the collaboration nudges Bas toward more vulnerable writing while The Hics stretch their production into brighter, pop-leaning textures; you can hear both impulses in “Mine.”
Writers: Abbas Hamad, Roxane Barker, Samuel Paul Evans, Domani Uriah Harris, Kaleb Rollins, David “Diamond” Medina, Marc Soto. Producers: The Hics, Soundwavve, ClickNPress. Runtime 2:43.
The lyric is plainspoken devotion with a streak of need. The hook circles possession and reassurance with the title word used as a claim and a source of comfort, while the verses sketch the wobble between fear of loss and a promise to stay.
Short fragments that capture the core of the song include lines like “tell me you love me” and “don’t let me go,” which frame the chorus’s central claim of “you’re mine.”
The perspective feels mutual rather than one-sided: the singers are negotiating closeness, not control.
That fits Melanchronica’s stated themes of burnout, vulnerability, and the search for connection in a numbing, hyper-connected world.
In the video, Director Kiva Corshen stages “Mine” as a roadside one-take.
A car has come to a stop on an empty stretch; the camera glides in a single, unbroken move as Bas steps out, the frustration in his face playing against the lyric’s promise to give everything and hold faith.
The lens hands the foreground to The Hics beside the same car, Roxane Barker carrying the chorus while the horizon rolls by.
The steadicam drift keeps everything intimate and unhurried, matching the song’s mid-tempo sway, and the horizon line becomes moving scenery.
In the final passage, Domani enters the frame as the practical friend, visually “solving” the stall and completing the exchange of vows, the song keeps circling.
No cuts, no set pieces; just blocking, breath, and the road.
Because there are no edits, the payoff is the feeling of continuity and commitment: one steady breath of a take, built on proximity, eye contact with the lens, and small shifts in who’s leading the frame at any moment.
Credits: Dir. Kiva Corshen; DoP Zohar Varadi; Prod. Nick From Nowhere for The Fiends; the crew describes it as a “roadside oner” brought to life.
Praise for The Hics’ vocals and the production is consistent; some listeners call the record a niche, beautifully executed “downtempo, electronic-adjacent” project with high replay value.
Critiques focus on Bas’ lyrical “spark” and recurring relationship themes.
One commenter wanted Bas to “expand his raps,” while another defended him as a “sonic rapper” who prioritises mood over dense bars.
For us, The Hics give the chorus an effortless lift; the topline is simple and sticky without leaning on cliché.
Arrangement and mix leave air for the voices; nothing crowds the sentiment, which fits the album’s ethos.
Domani’s tone doesn’t break the spell; it extends it, adding a second-person reassurance that plays well against Bas’ inward lines that supply the grounded perspective.
Treat “Mine” as Melanchronica’s emotional ballast, proof that the Bas × Hics chemistry isn’t just about lush sonics but about careful, collaborative framing.
It’s a tidy convergence of lyric, performance, and camera grammar, and it quietly does the hardest thing: make devotion feel like motion, not stasis.
If you value songcraft you can lean on in real life, this is one of the album’s keepsakes.
